Tag: The Bobby Lees

It’s in your face and back to the grind with the Bobby Lees.

Another special presentation tonight with House Music, a collection of songs about dwellings both physical and emotional. For tonight’s Final Hour, I came up with three themed sets, see if you can guess what they are. It’s like that Connections game!

Exploding out of upstate New York, The Bobby Lees have returned with a their third outing, titled Bellevue, and it delivers more of that biting, can’t-you-see-I’m-in-the-middle-of-an-episode post-rock blues energy. Tonight’s Mixtape closes out with Escape Mechanism’s “Being,” sampling William S. Burrough’s unmistakable reedy voice into an existential mantra.

A solid debut album, with a wide range of energies and emotions, filled with swirling guitars, moments of unabashed vulnerability, and sheer screeching unhinged psychopathy.

The sound of Star Feminine Band is born of Benin, brightly colored patterns, and wild abandon, young carefree voices skipping over liquid guitar and intense percussion.

The journey to the island had been placid, cutting through the postcard-blue waters on the kite hydrofoil like an experienced tailor shearing fine cloth for a new suit. Things were a bit more complicated now that they were at the Heraklion Archaeological Museum. The horologist consulted the mission notes, which simply stated “remove all anachronistic displays.” The historian, fearing seasickness, had taken a pill and was now having a comically adverse reaction that rendered them useless for these judgements. A security guard eyed them warily, but perhaps they could turn the situation to their advantage by playing up the effects as excessive inebriation.

The effervescent jangle of German trio A Tale of Golden Keys is intricately engineered to make your ears ask “what was that?”

There are many two-genre combos that will fit on Blitzen Trapper like a tailored suit, but my current favorite is “country psychedelia”.

Raw, stinging, and pungent like a freshly-cut onion, The Bobby Lees quickly peel away their layers to share their tender, pearl-white hearts.

The best place to hide seemed to be, ironically, right behind the ballot box. The numerologist and the baker had been underway on a wholly distinct mission, having already secured the deflated knifeboats inside a conveniently placed culvert. They now seemed to be caught in the crossfire of two opposing factions, each intent on some inscrutable and erratically violent purpose that seemed to be nothing but foiling the other side’s efforts. The roving skirmishes had drawn away participants and created a fairly event-free circle of balance where the pair could hunker down and plan their next move. It was going to be a long night.